


Victory Lap

by Otonymous



Category: MLQC: Fandom, love and producer, 恋与制作人 | Liàn Yǔ Zhì Zuò Rén | Mr. Love: Queen's Choice (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Vaginal Fingering, otome games, sweet sassy molassy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22727965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otonymous/pseuds/Otonymous
Summary: When it comes to love, Victor isn't playing around.
Relationships: Lǐ Zéyán | Victor & You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 67





	Victory Lap

**Author's Note:**

> Nb. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
> 
> Also, a "Canadian tuxedo" is denim on denim (e.g. denim jacket with jeans). This will come up in the story LOL.

“Oh my god, Victor. Are you jealous?”

“Don’t be absurd. It’s just a dumb video game. Why would I be jealous of someone who doesn’t even exist? I just don’t understand why you chose Gaven out of the four.”

“Why wouldn’t I choose Gaven? Beneath that rough exterior, he’s actually very sweet. Plus, he’s a sexy officer who rides a motorcycle like a badass. Makes me feel safe.”

“Sure, if you don’t mind being seen in public with someone who wears a Canadian tuxedo.”

“Wait, _you_ said yourself that it’s just a game. Why are you getting so worked up over the characters’ wardrobe choices?”

“This game — _Mr Passion: Who Will You Choose_ or whatever it’s called — is a massive waste of time and brain cells. You should find better ways to spend your day off.”

You laugh, incredulous. “Excuse me, Mr Li, but could you please refrain from telling me how to live my life? Besides, no one is forcing you to stay with me. Don’t you have to work today?” 

Victor shifts on your couch, looking entirely out of place in your mess of an apartment in his immaculate suit. Clearing his throat, he schools his expression into something unreadable.

“Unlike someone who works at the pace of a snail, I already completed everything—”

A cellphone rings to interrupt him, muted through the pocket of Victor’s blazer draped over the armrest at his side.

“You gonna get that?” You ask after the fourth ring.

“It’s not important. Continue.”

Raising your brows, you turn your attention back to your smartphone, trying not to think about how strangely Victor was behaving; skipping off work and showing up at your apartment unannounced with pudding from Souvenir - leaving you with neither the option to protest nor the opportunity to make your home semi-presentable. The way he looked at you like one would a child when you informed him you’d be spending the day playing a game, yet listening with rapt attention during your explanation of the rules.

No matter. You would keep your focus on the game.

Not, for instance, on _how close_ Victor was; how the woodsy notes of his cologne mixed with skin to form a scent so uniquely him — one that never failed to send a rush of pleasure down your spine. You would refrain from letting his breath distract you, warm on the shell of your ear as he looked over your shoulder at the phone. Regardless of how soothing it felt.

Then suddenly, your screen darkens, _‘Goldman, Executive Assistant to the LFG Bitch’_ scrolling in large font to interrupt your game. Hearing a sharp intake of breath, you don’t have to look behind you to feel the dark cloud of displeasure at your back.

Before you could conjure up some excuse for his nickname, however, Victor snatches the device from your hands, finger swiping impatiently and followed up by an equally impatient voice:

“I said no calls today, Goldman. I don’t care if it’s Bezos. And tell Zuckerberg for the last time that it’s going to be a hard ‘no’ for me.“

Hanging up, Victor’s cool eyes study you as he hands back your cell. "Am I being referred to as the ‘LFG bitch’ now?”

“You tell me, Victor Li. Do you know anyone else who would answer someone else’s phone like that? And for the record, I _am_ capable of taking my own calls.”

“Hmph. Trust me, Goldman wasn’t calling to speak to you. And you certainly think very highly of yourself for someone who can’t even choose the right virtual man.”

It drains every reserve of patience you have not to wrap your hands around that thick neck and squeeze.

“Fine. And who would _you_ have chosen?”

“No contest. Viktor.”

“Viktor?! Mister unpleasant personified? Why? Because he’s a CEO?”

“He’s smart, serious and efficient. Says what he means and means what he says. The man also has good taste in clothing, although the same can’t be said about his judgement when it comes to women. The main character can’t even cross the street without almost getting hit by a car, for god’s sake.”

“Ok, well, when it’s your turn, you can romance Viktor all you want. Now can I finally go on my date with Gaven?”

Rolling your eyes, you tap on the screen as if the game couldn’t load fast enough, but your frustration soon melts away as you become immersed in the story — forgetting that your boss is still sitting next to you and very, very close.

So close, in fact, that he could observe the tiniest details on your person — each and every one tugging up the corners of his lips in a secret smile:

The wisps of hair falling out of your top-knot, soft against the skin of your neck.

Unfettered expressions animating your face as you played; a refreshingly open book he never tired of reading.

One nail slightly shorter than the rest on the hand you brought up to frame your face on habit - the same one you had broken in his office a few days earlier.

And if you had turned at just that moment, you would’ve seen a stranger - tenderness suffusing the features of that handsome face to transform Victor Li into another man entirely…

One completely absorbed in committing _everything_ about you to memory.

“What?! That’s the end of the date? At least kiss me, Gaven! Way to leave someone with blue ovaries.“ Tossing your phone aside in a huff, you suddenly jump at the sound of a throat clearing by your ear — a rude reminder that you weren’t alone. “Oh shit, you weren’t supposed to hear that. You weren’t supposed to hear the ‘shit’ part either.”

Bleeding internally from embarrassment, it crosses your mind for the umpteenth time that it was a phenomenally bad idea to spend your day off with Victor. No doubt, the first impression you had left on the CEO was less than positive. And it seemed that every encounter since only served to highlight yet another insecurity, another way by which Victor Li is so out of your league:

That imperious man who nitpicked everything you did, but also showed you the value of learning through trial by fire.

The exacting CEO who expected nothing short of perfection because he, too, offered nothing less. 

The man who, beneath words like bitter pills, actually had his moments of sweetness.

Victor Li is out of your reach, and the truth stung because in spite of it all…

_You are madly in love with him._

“Blue ovaries? Are you implying that…” Pulling you from your thoughts, Victor’s deep voice trails off as his eyes drop to the hands on your lap, already bunching your skirt in nervous fistfuls. And before you can completely disintegrate in the flames of mortification, you spring from the couch, mumbling some lame excuse about needing the bathroom so you could hit your head against the wall in private.

At least, that’s what you would’ve done had you _not_ been undone by your untidy ways, foot slipping on the cover of a glossy magazine left lying on the floor to send you flying face first towards the rug.

_It all happened so quickly._

Your teeth never got the chance to introduce themselves to shaggy fibres, and instead of lying sprawled out on the ground, you found your legs spread wide, straddling a man who still had an iron grip on your arm from saving you from an impromptu face plant.

And inappropriate though it was, you couldn’t help but enjoy the firmness of Victor’s thick thighs beneath your ass, suddenly picturing your boss in nothing but the tiniest Speedo, beads of water cascading down an insanely muscled torso as he pushed himself up over the ledge of a pool — the image undoubtedly sparked by your recollection of the swimming trophies you saw displayed in his home that one time you delivered a report after hours.

“Oh, god. I’m so sorry.” The words leave your mouth, but it isn’t lost on either of you that neither person is making an effort to move.

Perhaps it was the black lace between your legs, clearly visible now that your skirt was practically hiked up to the waist. Or maybe it was the grind of your hips, weight shifting side to side on his lap as you tried to keep balanced. Whatever it was, Victor Li knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slide. 

_Not when he had been holding back for so long._

And at the back of his mind, the CEO knew how it would look if he finally acted on his feelings — the ones he’d kept suppressed since the day you accosted him at his office. Society on the whole was unkind to women, and he did not want to give anyone fodder to insinuate that your company had earned its funding from LFG by any means other than your own hard work and dedication.

Most certainly not by fucking the boss.

Crossing this line now could set off a chain reaction of consequences, ones that Victor had spent many sleepless nights considering, trying to balance the scales between desire and what he felt was in your best interests.

But the look on your face left his mind a blank slate, unable to think of anything but the overwhelming urge to taste your lips. And with your ass sinking so nicely into his lap, the CEO couldn’t help but wonder how the rest of your body would feel: on top, beneath, and surrounding him.

“I…I should probably…get off.” Struggling to move sluggish limbs, you hesitate to tear your gaze away from Victor’s jet black eyes, their intensity holding you in place as if time itself had stopped.

Then, you feel it: Victor’s grip on your arm tightening again in a bid to get you to stay. The signal you had been waiting so patiently for, but now that it had arrived, you scarcely dared to believe was real.

“Not yet,” he whispers, breath warm against your lips to make them part in kind, immediately drawing Victor’s gaze to the pink sweep of your tongue from corner to corner. “Did you hurt yourself?”

You don’t know how you did it. Didn’t even know where that blind courage came from, possessing you in a fit of lust-induced insanity to nod in response to Victor’s question, finger tracing down your body until it pointed to the space between your legs. 

“I’m a bit sore here. Could you check to see if it’s okay?”

The CEO inhales sharply for the second time that day, broad chest lifting to strain against his fitted dress shirt as his eyes widen almost imperceptibly - cracks starting to form in that poker face to hear you raise the stakes. 

“Then you’d better make it wet for me.” Victor places a finger on your lips, tip tracing back and forth along the seam before slipping past to caress your tongue. And when you pucker to suck, the low groan that escapes him makes you clench.

Precariously balanced with your hands on his knees behind you, the spread of your legs widens to meet Victor’s touch - long fingers gliding over the lace of your panties, slowing to linger on areas that were particularly moist.

“Nothing seems out of the ordinary here. Are you feeling any better?” Voice growing increasingly raspy, the CEO bites his lip to see you shake your head, cheeks already flushed crimson. “No? Then I’m afraid we’ll have to look a bit deeper.”

You whimper to feel your underwear pulled aside, the air of the room cool against bare skin as Victor takes his time admiring the sight: the afternoon sun bathing you in a warm glow to highlight the slickness of pink folds like tulips glistening with morning dew.

Just when you are about to go insane from anticipation, Victor finally touches you — index running from the hood of your clit down to the base of your entrance and back again, over and over. Licentious and needy, you could scarcely believe the moans that were issuing from your mouth. But at the moment, you didn’t care, too caught up in the way the CEO’s talented fingers made you feel.

“How about now?” Fingertips beginning to draw circles about your swollen clit at a maddeningly slow frequency, Victor keeps you suspended in a state of heightened arousal — a touch shy of release, but much too high to come down. Satisfied to have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Hmm…it…it still hurts,” you piece the words together between pants, and when he responds by sliding first one, then two fingers deep into your pussy, your head falls back in ecstasy. Victor quickly throws an arm around your waist to keep you anchored on his lap even as his other hand continued to stroke — intent on coaxing every last drop of arousal from your body to join the pool already staining his pristine dress pants.

“Seems like you’ve always been a glutton for _both_ pudding and pleasure,” Victor’s chuckle is dark in your ear to send another rush of fluid between your legs. And you are powerless to even refute his statement when he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, broad palm rubbing against your core even as his fingers continued to fuck you.

Then finally, the tension snaps — convulsions passing through your body in waves as the arm around you tightens to bring you close enough for a kiss. And with his fingers still buried in you, savouring the flex of your warm, wet walls, Victor slips his tongue past your lips, kissing you with the same fervour as the hands you had tangled in his thick, black hair, leaving it wonderfully disheveled.

“Are you still sore?” Victor asks, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Not anymore. Quite comfortable, actually.”

The CEO drops a kiss on your forehead before leaning back to reach for his belt. And as the buckle above the massive bulge in his pants comes undone, you bite your lip, readying yourself for round two when he says,

“Good. Because Viktor just entered the game.”


End file.
